


when the solid ground is falling out

by acrobats



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrobats/pseuds/acrobats
Summary: Bruce Wayne's worst fear is losing his kids, and it's a very real one.





	when the solid ground is falling out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nxttime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/gifts).



> Title from "Eye Of The Storm", which is also where the prompt (Did my best, now I'm scared to death; I might lose everything) came from. I'm not posting this in my prompt collection because it...felt like its own thing? I don't know.

One would have thought that after all the times he’s been hit with fear toxin Bruce would have developed an immunity to it. But it turned out you couldn’t inoculate yourself against fear. It didn’t matter how many times he’d had the same chilling vision, how many times he’d told himself it wasn’t real and he just had to keep it together until he could take the antidote. Somehow, each time was worse that the last.

Tonight the after effects were particularly vicious, and even hours after he’d come back to himself he couldn’t shake off the anxiety crawling under his skin. His children, bloody and beaten. His children dead because of the life he’d brought them into. He knew it hadn’t been true today – but what comfort was that?

It had been true before. And fear whispered to him that it would be again, and again, no impossible resurrections this time, no tricks, until Bruce had destroyed everything he loved and he was alone. It would be kinder, fear insisted, to let them go now. Maybe they wouldn’t understand, and he’d still be alone, but at least they would be alive.

But he couldn’t afford to go down that path. Pushing his kids away was one of if not  _the_ worst mistake of his life, and one he made routinely. Nothing good had ever come out of it. He had to do better,  _be_ better, for their sake.

Long after the kids had all gone to sleep or left, Bruce lay awake, an oppressive weight on his chest. He rose from his bed with a sigh, giving up even the pretense of sleep, and traipsed silently through the house.

There was no comfort to be found indoors. He exited the manor through the back door in the kitchen and made his way through the grounds to where his parents’ headstones awaited. It was drizzling, little inconsequential droplets of water coating his hair and clothes. Once he made it to his destination, he knelt in front the graves, head bowed.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

He made a point to come here on certain days: their death day, birthdays, anniversary, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited them spontaneously like now. Maybe that was a good thing. Now did not feel like something to be envied.

“I thought I lost my kids again tonight,” he murmured into the silence. “I knew it wasn’t real. I’ve dealt with Crane’s creations enough that I always know. But what I know and what I _believe._..”

Even as he spoke, he had the urge to seek them all out just to make sure they were still breathing. Only Duke and Damian were staying in the manor tonight. Dick was in the penthouse, Tim and Jason in their respective apartments. Cassandra was all the way in Hong Kong, and it broke him a little to know that if anything happened, he was too far away to get to her in time.

But with all the mistakes he’d made, all the times he’d alienated them, intentionally or not, he felt grateful just for the privilege of knowing where each of them was. It was not so long ago that Jason refused to disclose the location of his real apartment to any of them, and Damian still sometimes stormed off after arguments without telling anyone where he was going.

“I keep telling myself that I did my best,” he confessed. As woefully inadequate as his best might have been. “But I’m scared to death. I might lose everything.”

The graves had no answer for him, but someone else did. A small figure stepped out of the shadows, coming to stand beside Bruce.

“You won’t,” Damian said.

Bruce rose to his feet and brushed the dirt and mud off his knees. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it,” Damian replied steadily, an undercurrent of worry in his voice. He tutted in admonishment. “If you were still suffering from the effects of the toxin, you should have alerted someone.”

“That’s not what this is,” Bruce said. “There’s no reason for concern. It’s all out of my system.”

“I see. And is fear less worth noting when it isn’t caused by hallucinogens?” Damian’s tone was challenging now. “Because you’ve told me that fear isn’t weakness. It isn’t shameful. So why are you hiding yours?”

Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled. “You’re right,” he admitted. “But I can’t…I’m your father. I don’t know how to share this without…burdening you. It’s difficult.”

“Of course it’s difficult,” Damian agreed, almost flippant. His mouth curled at the corner, just the hint of a smirk, and he said, “Just do your best.”

“Hnn.” It was because they shared their sense of humor that Bruce realized it was as much as joke as it was a genuine request. “I will.”


End file.
